


To Get the Biscuit

by Chash



Series: Holiday Fills 2016 [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Cheerleaders, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 11:51:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8749681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: Bellamy comes up with the whole cheerleading idea for Miller's sake. Completely, totally, 100% selfless. It's all about Miller.
It has nothing to do with him, and even less to do with Clarke Griffin.
Really.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [museumofflight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museumofflight/gifts), [avidfangirllife](https://archiveofourown.org/users/avidfangirllife/gifts).



> I can't believe two people independently asked me to write a Bellarke Fired Up! AU. This truly is a Christmas miracle.

No matter what anyone says, Bellamy comes up with the plan for Miller's sake. He really does. Even if he's benefiting, Miller is the one he really wants to help.

Unfortunately, given the list of people who don't believe this starts (and, for the moment, ends) with Miller, he's not sure how he's ever going to convince anyone else.

"How is this for me?" he asks, glaring from Bellamy's bed with the one eye that's visible under his arm.

"How is it not?"

"Dude. Come on. You're trying to sell me on _cheerleading_ to get laid? I get why it works for you, but--"

"O says most male cheerleaders are gay," he says. "Or at least bi. You're complaining there aren't any other out guys at our school--"

"Other than you."

"And we didn't work out," Bellamy agrees. "So we quit football, which fucking sucks, switch to cheerleading, and you get to meet way more guys." He pauses, "Okay, not _more_ guys. But a higher percentage of them are going to be openly queer, so it's better for dating. And there aren't that many male cheerleaders, so we've probably got better odds on turning it into scholarships. Not like we're good at football or anything."

"And this has absolutely nothing to do with Clarke Griffin," says Miller.

The question catches him off guard. "Clarke? What would it have to do with Clarke?"

"Your fucking rival is the head cheerleader," he says. "And you guys have your whole--" He waves his hand vaguely. "Jesus, I don't know what your vibe is, but it's weird. If I really thought you just wanted to get laid, that would be one thing. But if you're just looking for an excuse to pull Clarke's pigtails--"

"No!" he says, probably too quickly. "Fuck, I just want to get laid. It has nothing to do with Clarke."

Miller looks at him, narrow-eyed. "So, your only motivation is that you want to hang out with a bunch of cheerleaders at training camp."

"And I want you to hang out with a bunch of cheerleaders at training camp."

"And you promise you're not going to try to hook up with Clarke."

His first impulse is to point out that not being motivated by Clarke and not hooking up with her are two totally different things, but he bites back on it. It's not really the kind of objection that will help his case. "I promise," he says.

"Cool," says Miller. He claps Bellamy on the shoulder. "Good luck talking her into letting us on the squad. Keep me posted."

*

Miller is overstating Bellamy's issues with Clarke Griffin, honestly. It's not like he and Clarke are a disaster or anything. They're just incompatible. On a basic level. They don't get along because she's a spoiled princess and he's actually had to work to get where he is.

Not that Clarke doesn't work. Clarke's kind of terrifyingly dedicated. But she and Bellamy are like oil and water. They're a bad combination, plain and simple.

Which does, maybe, make the cheerleader thing a terrible idea. But Bellamy is so fucking _sick_ of football. He started it when he was a freshman because he needed _a_ sport, and he had some aggression issues, but it is really, really not his sport. And at the end of junior year, he's pretty sure he couldn't switch over to baseball or basketball and still be any good, let alone have a shot at any kind of scholarship.

Cheerleading is a viable solution. He just has to convince Clarke of that.

"No," she says, before he can say anything. She hasn't even looked at him yet.

"No what?" he asks. 

Clarke slams her locker shut and glares at him. "Whatever you want. No. Not interested."

"Who says I want anything?" he protests. They both have AP calc next, so he can just follow her. 

"If you didn't want anything, you wouldn't be talking to me. Are you going to offer to carry my books?"

"No, I'm going to offer to carry you."

She glances back at him one, and then actually does a fucking _trust fall_ directly into him; it's only thanks to his quick reflexes that he catches her, and he has to drop his own books to do it.

"Shitty offer," she observes, but she does help him pick up his stuff.

"That wasn't really what I meant," he says. "Look--this is an actual serious conversation, okay?"

Her eyebrows shoot up. "A serious conversation?"

"Yeah."

"About what?"

"Your squad."

Her expression closes off immediately. "Yes, we do still have a picture of you up in the locker room with _Do Not Fuck This Man_ written on it. It's not coming down."

"Hey, if you want to miss out on this, that's your business. Not what I wanted to talk about."

"Okay, fine. What's up?"

"Miller and I want to join."

"Join what?"

"The squad."

To his immense satisfaction, she actually falters. "You want to what?"

"Miller and I want to be cheerleaders."

She stops so she can look at him, hard. "Why?"

His impulse is to bullshit her, try to flatter her, but--this is Clarke, and she has a history of seeing right through him. Besides, she's bi too, which means his real argument might actually work on her. And if it doesn't, he has backups.

"Because it sucks to be a queer guy who plays football," he says. "And it sucks way more for Miller than it does for me. I still like girls, so everyone just acts like I'm a giant horndog--"

"Which you are," she interjects, apparently unable to help herself.

"Exactly. So it's not like they're wrong. But it's easy to live with. Anything that moves, right? But that's not how it works for Miller. They don't even want to shower with him."

"And you think being a cheerleader is going to help with that?" she asks. "Look, Bellamy, your heart is in the right place, but--I'm pretty sure being a male cheerleader doesn't cure homophobia."

"No, but my sister told me basically all the guy cheerleaders are some flavor of queer," he says. "And even if they're not, you guys don't have any other guys on your squad. We'd be the only two, and he knows I'm cool with him."

Clarke considers him for what feels like way too long. She's intense in a way he's never associated with cheerleaders, but he's also willing to admit that his understanding of cheerleaders was basically stuck in bad eighties movies. Even if Clarke has a lot in common with those characters superficially, she's something else entirely, and he finds himself standing up straighter, refusing to back down.

"Okay," she finally says, with a sunny smile he doesn't trust.

"Yeah?"

"Yup, you convinced me. If Miller wants to join the squad, he's welcome."

He trips following her into the classroom. "What do you mean, Miller?"

"You wanted Miller on the squad, right? All of your arguments were about Miller and why I should let him join. Tell him to get in touch. We'll be happy to have him."

"What about me?"

"What about you? I didn't hear anything about why _you_ should join the team. That was all about Miller."

"Solidarity," Bellamy says. "Friendship. Have you ever _played_ football, Clarke? It's basically a non-stop concussion machine. Seriously, as soon as I thought about cheerleading, it was such a huge improvement."

"So, you're trying to tell me you want to be a cheerleader."

"Yup."

They've got a short break between fourth and fifth periods, but the calculus room is already pretty full, people hanging out and chatting while they wait for the bell. Clarke seems to be counting them.

"Get on the desk," she says. 

"Why?"

"I want to hear that you want to be a cheerleader. And I want everyone else to hear it too. It's gonna be a matter of public record."

"You're acting like if I join the squad, no one is ever going to find out. It's gonna be pretty obvious."

"That sounds like stalling, Blake." She pats the desk. "Come on. Let's see what you got."

He glances over at the clock; still two minutes to class. "You asked for it," he says, and jumps up onto the desk. He already basically has everyone's attention, but he claps anyway, like he's seen Clarke do. "Ready? Okay!" 

Bellamy is basically a show-off at heart; he loves being the center of attention. It's another reason he doesn't care about football that much. It doesn't actually do anything for his ego.

His short cheer routine on the desk isn't particularly inspired, but it gets a round of applause when he's done, and he bows and says, "Yeah, I'm definitely going to be a cheerleader."

"Thank you for sharing, Bellamy," says Ms. Keller. "If that's all, class is starting soon."

Clarke offers her hand, and when he takes it, she helps him off the desk. "All yours, Ms. K." He cocks his head at Clarke. "So?"

"That doesn't count as an audition," she says, but it looks like she's trying not to smile. "Thursday. Bring Miller."

*

The real reason Bellamy wanted to switch to cheerleading is this: there is a summer camp. It's at the same time as football camp, and as soon as he found that out, he realized just how unappealing the football camp was. After all, why the fuck would he go to some hot hellhole in Tennessee to get repeatedly tackled by giant dudes who weren't yet secure enough in their masculinity to sleep with him when he could be in Virginia hanging out with a bunch of attractive people who are basically amateur gymnasts? It's an actual no-brainer.

And it's good for Miller, as a bonus.

"Jesus fucking christ, there are so many girls on this bus," Miller mutters.

"What were you expecting? We're the only guys on the team."

"If I don't find a hot dude to fuck in the first three days, you're fucking me," he says. "We're making a pact now."

"Sure," he says. "Come on, it's going to be fun."

"It's not," says Octavia. She's sitting in front of them, scowling at the universe. She's doing cheerleading under protest; their school doesn't have any official teams she can join that let her punch people, so they agreed she'd cheer so she had an in-school extracurricular and he'd pay for her to take karate on the weekends.

He thinks she might secretly like the cheerleader thing, but if she does it's so secret that even advanced torture would not get it out of her.

"How many of these have you been to?" Miller asks.

"Just one. It sucked. It's just cheering _all the time_."

"I'm pretty sure that beats football all the time," Bellamy points out. "Football all the time sucks."

"Your hatred for football is really weird," Clarke remarks, and Bellamy jumps. They're _on a bus_. How did she sneak up on him? "How did you even get started playing?"

"I wanted to get girls," he says, because it's less embarrassing than saying he was hoping he could get a scholarship. It feels so _naive_ ; he was never going to be good enough at football to get a scholarship. He's not nearly good enough, and he was never going to be.

"Do you ever make decisions with anything other than your dick?" Clarke asks, taking the free seat next to Octavia and craning around to look at him, critical.

"If you're going to sit next to me, can you not talk about my brother's dick?" says Octavia. "It's just polite."

Clarke grins at her, and Bellamy feels an odd twinge somewhere around his ribs. He'd sort of forgotten that Clarke and Octavia knew each other. It's weird to see them talking like--friends. Kind of. O's a lot younger, but they're still teammates.

"Sorry. Bellamy are you ever motivated by anything other than definitely not your dick?"

"I don't understand the question," he says, and Clarke's still amused enough with the whole situation to just roll her eyes.

It's all very amicable; Miller steps on his foot.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" he asks, more because he's curious than to appease Miller.

"I've been working on new cheers, since we have you guys now. But I don't know much about your skill sets. How much can you lift?"

"You come up with the routines yourself?" 

"Who else would?"

"Coach, internet, what's that movie where they steal the moves from a team of black girls to comment on cultural appropriation or whatever?"

" _Bring It On_ ," says O. "Miller, switch seats with Clarke, they're definitely going to start talking _strategy_."

It seems like an odd assumption, but he guesses she's not wrong. Because that's always been one of the mysteries of their cheerleaders: they're just not very _good_. And it's bizarre to Bellamy, because Clarke is actually terrifying. He doesn't know she hasn't made a squad that crushes all opposition through sheer force of will. 

So, fine. He's a little interested in strategy.

And he gets so engrossed in the conversation he doesn't even notice when they get to the camp. It's _interesting_ , okay? Clarke knows a lot about the history of the sport and routines, and he doesn't, but if he's going to be a cheerleader, he's going to be a _good_ one. So he wants to learn. And it's surprisingly easy. When he and Clarke are actually on the same side and he shows genuine interest in what she's saying, they get along better than he expected. He's a sarcastic dick, but she gives as good as she gets, so he doesn't have to feel bad.

Miller kicks him when they're picking up their bags, and he kicks back.

*

This is how hookups work for Bellamy: they happen once, and if both parties don't get off, he is doing something wrong. His teammates treat him like some sort of sorcerer, like his ability to consistently get laid is some kind of deep wizardry. But really, he just understands that it's not some sort of bizarre, complex alchemy, having sex. A lot of the other guys he knows treat relationships as a transaction, where they want sex and the girls want--well, who could ever figure out what girls want? There's no way of knowing. They're clearly a bizarre alien species.

Bellamy likes to sleep with people who want to sleep with him. He doesn't have time for a relationship, doesn't want one anyway. They're a pain. His free time is limited, and sex is faster than intimacy. There are plenty of girls who feel the same, and that's how he gets laid. Honesty and orgasms. It's not _hard_.

But whenever he told his teammates, they didn't believe him. If it was really that easy, they'd all be getting laid all the time. So everyone would always act like he didn't want to share his secrets.

More reasons he's glad he's off that team, honestly.

The cheerleaders, he likes. Not for the superficial reasons all his football teammates thought he would, but because they're pretty cool. He's avoided the cheerleading team in general since Clarke came to power, mostly out of politeness, but he always regretted it a little. He slept with Gina Martin sophomore year and would have been happy to do it again, but Clarke gave him a dressing down for distracting her teammate, and they'd gotten into a fight about Clarke minding her own business and Bellamy being a misogynistic ass and Gina finally telling them both to shut the fuck up.

Par for the course, really.

But after that, Bellamy stopped bothering with cheerleaders, because arguing with Clarke about his sex life made his head hurt, and they had plenty of other things to argue about and he had other people to sleep with.

And now he's grateful for it, because it turns out cheer camp is fucking _surreal_. It's no less hardcore than football camp, it just has a totally different vibe. The people who run football camps tend to be loud and into verbal abuse, as their thing. It's not _all_ of them, of course, but it's enough to set the tone.

The people who run cheer camps--or at least, _this_ cheer camp--are a completely different kind of terrifying. Bellamy has been spoiled by their cheerleaders, who largely think of cheering as something to put on their college applications. Clarke is a perfectionist with no natural aptitude for the sport, and most of the others just sort of stumbled into it by virtue of not making any of the other teams. The social cache associated with cheerleading mostly missed their school; their popular girls play basket and/or volleyball, and they've instead slid straight into lovable group of misfits. With varying mileage on the _lovable_ part.

Head Coach Thelonious Jaha is like nothing he's ever encountered before. Bellamy hasn't met a lot of zealots in his life, but Jaha seems to be one, and cheering is his religion. Marcus Kane, the Assistant Coach, seems somewhat more grounded, but it's clear that this is still his passion. Which, okay, it would have to be, if they're working here. But Bellamy feels like they're trying to convert him, which is an especially weird way to feel when he's already here.

"This is fucked up, right?" he hisses at Miller. "It's not just me."

"This has been continually and aggressively fucked up since you came up with your stupid plan," Miller says. "I'm just here for the trainwreck."

"So, you don't want to hear about the cute guy checking you out?"

If Miller was a different kind of person, he would sit up straighter or look around or something. But Miller is Miller, so he just rolls his eyes. "Weak attempt at a subject change."

"Seriously. At your nine o'clock. There's a cute Asian guy checking you out. Next to the white kid in the goggles."

Miller looks over with easy casualness, not that it matters, because the other guy averts his eyes from Miller in the least subtle way possible as soon as Miller's head starts to turn.

It's cute.

"You don't think that's his boyfriend in the goggles?" Miller asks, not sounding like he thinks it either.

"Nah. I can spot a straight guy who's doing this to try to get laid from a mile away."

"Takes one to know one, I guess."

"Hey, I'm not straight. And if he had a boyfriend, he wouldn't be checking you out, so--"

"You're just trying to get out of sleeping with me again."

"Variety is the spice of life."

An elbow hits his ribs, but not that hard. "Be quiet," Clarke hisses. "Wells is talking."

"Who?" asks Bellamy, looking at the stage. There's a hot guy there, about their age, and his nervous smile is more endearing than all of Jaha's zeal and Kane's wholehearted dedication. Someone should really have some sense of humor about the whole thing.

"Jaha's son," she says, quiet, but she doesn't look away from the boy. And she cheers louder than anyone when he introduces himself.

His first impression was totally wrong; the guy's a tool.

"Okay, welcome back everyone," says Wells. "Glad to see so many familiar faces. Even gladder to see so many new ones. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Wells Jaha. This is my first year as a counselor, so go easy on me. I'm going to be working with the team captains, helping you guys plan your routines. But I've been cheering my whole life, so if you have any questions about anything, I'm always here."

Up until that little speech, Bellamy had been feeling pretty good about the whole cheer camp thing. He'd chatted with a few girls on his way over to the meeting, thought he had some decent prospects for making out tonight, if not more. And he could wingman Miller.

Instead, when Wells calls for captains, he follows Clarke.

"Can I help you?" she asks.

"This is routine planning, right? You still don't know what me and Miller can do. Besides, it sounded kind of cool."

"You still need to work on fundamentals. And you don't know anything about routines."

"So I should be learning."

"So you're a dumbass."

"True, but not really related," he says. "Are you going to introduce me?"

That's enough to get her to look back at him, finally. "Do you want to hit on Wells? Is that it?"

"No, don't worry. Your boyfriend is safe."

"Yup, that's exactly what I was worried about. You figured it out. Good job." 

Her sarcasm isn't particularly comforting. And it doesn't help either that Wells is an incredibly nice guy, who takes the time to introduce himself to Bellamy and welcome him to camp before he wraps Clarke up in a huge hug and tells her how much he missed her.

Even when he says Bellamy can join the captain sessions, he manages to be so nice and considerate that Bellamy just wants to punch him.

"He's not a captain," Clarke says, scowling.

"I'm independently motivated," says Bellamy.

"No offense, but you guys need all the help you can get," says Wells. "We're all here to learn, and if he wants to learn more about being a captain--"

"You're helping him stage a coup?" 

"I'm not staging a coup," says Bellamy.

"That's exactly what someone staging a coup would say."

Wells is smiling. "I'll put your name on the schedule, Bellamy. Welcome to cheer camp."

"Thanks," he says. "Looking forward to it."

*

Here's how it goes: Bellamy cheers. A lot. Bellamy flirts, not quite as much. Bellamy hooks up less than he thought he would, because when he thought about cheer camp, he thought about basically non-stop sex, but that's never realistic. It's every few days, and it's pretty easy because most of the girls are straight and most of the guys aren't, so the ones who want to get laid are very happy to have him around.

Bellamy spends a lot of time with his team, because they're his team. And he spends a lot of time with Clarke because he and Clarke actually have a lot of the same priorities. They both want the team to be as good as it can be, and they both like strategy and theory.

He kind of likes Wells, which is incredibly annoying. 

Miller isn't hooking up with the cute kid who's into him, but they are hanging out a lot, and Bellamy likes him too. That, at least, isn't annoying. His name is Monty, and he goes to school only half an hour away from them, which means that Miller is actually hoping to turn this into a relationship. It's cool, and Bellamy's happy for him, but it's also kind of--a lot. Miller's never dated before.

Honestly, Bellamy's never had a plan work out this well before. He likes cheerleading, both he and Miller are happy, and he's not sweating his balls off in Tennessee. He's much happier sweating his balls off in Virginia.

Miller reminds him, once a day, that he promised not to hook up with Clarke, which is really the worst possible plan Miller could have. Because that means at least one a day, he's thinking about hooking up with Clarke. And thinking about that is bad for his health. And, honestly, really not helping Miller's case. Without Miller's constant reminders, he could maybe, in some world, forget about Clarke for ten minutes.

Maybe.

So, yeah. Cheer camp is great. He's really enjoying it.

Everything's fine.

*

"I don't get you," Clarke says.

They're having a bonfire, just like a real camp, and Bellamy could be trying to find someone to make out with, but Clarke sat next to him, close enough her shoulder is brushing his, and so he's not planning to move until she does.

"What about me?"

"I really thought you were some gross asshole. You _act_ like some gross asshole."

He takes the cup out of her hand and takes a sip. "Not alcoholic," he says. "Were you holding out on me for the pregame?"

"No, I'm sober. I just--it's so weird. I don't get why you're the way you are."

"How am I?"

"Above it all. You act like you don't care about anything, and you're just this--football player."

"Stereotyping isn't cool."

"You left the football team because you didn't like football players."

"Not--" He groans and rubs his face. "I was going to say not all football players, but it sounds like a douchey hashtag." He wets his lips. "I stopped playing football because I didn't like it. And, yeah, a lot of the time it's a shitty environment, and maybe me and Miller could have made it a better one, but I didn't like it enough to do that. I like this."

"You do," Clarke says. "And you like the girls."

"It's not like I didn't get girls playing football."

"No, I meant--you actually _like_ the girls. You like hanging out. That's what I didn't expect. I don't get why you do this whole--persona."

Miller is talking to Monty and a few of their teammates, looks engrossed in the conversation. He'll notice if Bellamy leaves, but he's not going to come after him or anything.

"You want to take a walk?" he asks.

The night is a little cool and bright enough with the moon. The campus has some nice park areas, and Bellamy starts them towards one of those, out of a general lack of anywhere else to go. It's nice, honestly. He's never had anyone in his life like Clarke before. He hopes this isn't a fluke, and once they're back home, this thing they have going will just disappear.

He can probably keep his promise to Miller, at least technically. Whatever he does with Clarke, he doubts it's going to be anything as simple as a hookup.

He's so screwed.

"Why are we walking?" she finally prompts.

"I like exercise." He lets out a breath. "Did you know we're poor?"

There's a pause, and then she asks, "Who's we?"

"My family. My dad died when I was a kid, O's dad was never in the picture. It's just us and our mom. And she works all the time just to keep us going. I started playing football because it seemed like the best way to get a college scholarship, but it's not like I'm good at football. Not good enough. So I might as well have fun, right?"

"So cheerleading?"

"Cheerleading and hooking up. I work weekends, I've got homework and AP classes and extracurriculars to see if I can get good financial aid _somewhere_. Dating would be way too much of a time commitment. And it's not like girls don't like sex too. Everyone has fun, no one has expectations."

"That sucks, though," she says.

"Parts of my life suck, Clarke. It happens. I'm not dating in high school. Plenty of people don't. I'm getting laid, which is what I care about."

"Sure it is." He doesn't know what to say to that, so they walk in silence until she says, "I saw you helping out those JV kids. It wasn't like--I noticed before. That you're a good guy. But it was different, seeing you with them."

He swallows. "I like kids," he admits. It feels like giving too much of himself away, except he's giving it to Clarke. And that's not the same. "My mom's busy. I took care of O a lot when she was little."

"You still do." She ducks her head on a laugh. "Honestly, that was the first thing that--I didn't get. The way your sister talks about you, it was like a different person."

"And now it's not?"

"No. It turns out, you have layers."

"Yeah, well, you're pretty much exactly who I thought you were."

She laughs again, bright and surprised. "That bad, huh?"

"No," he says. "Not bad at all."

"Don't tell me you didn't hate me at first."

"Yeah. But the stuff I hated about you is the stuff I like about you now. You're a fucking stubborn asshole who never cuts me a break, and you always think you're right."

"No, I don't." She bumps her shoulder against his. "I just always think you're wrong."

"There we go."

They walk in silence again until she says, "So, you like me."

Part of him wants to laugh it off, but more of him wants her to know. "Yeah. I like you."

When he gets back, Miller throws a pillow at his face; his reflexes are fast enough that he catches it. 

"Was it good, at least?" he asks.

"I didn't hook up with Clarke."

There's a pause, and then Miller throws another pillow at him. At least they don't _hurt_. 

"What?" he demands.

"Why the fuck not?"

"You've been telling me not to hook up with her every day for a week! You made me fucking promise!"

"Yeah, but I didn't think you were gonna do it. Jesus, Blake. You fucking perk up every time you see her. I thought you were bad before this, but now you're--"

It's not great, watching Miller figure it out. It's not worse than figuring it out himself, but it's not a comfort that someone else knows.

"Dude," he says.

"Don't say it," Bellamy snaps.

"You're not going to hook up with her."

"Definitely not."

"Fuck," says Miller. "Well, uh--at least you've got good taste, I guess."

"It's a real comfort," he says. Since they're talking about it, he feels like it's okay to add, "I really had no fucking idea. Fuck. I'm screwed, right? Wells is cuter than I am."

"Yeah, but he goes to NYU. You're local."

"Thanks. I feel better."

*

He doesn't mean to stop hooking up, it's just that it's much less appealing to hook up with other girls when he could be hanging out with Clarke, working on their routines or just talking to her. She tells him about her parents, them getting divorced, which was why she moved here freshman year, how much she misses her dad, how she still misses what she can't help thinking of as _her home_. No matter how much she likes Maryland, it's apparently not the same.

It takes him an embarrassingly long time to put it together, and when he does, he just bursts out, "Wait, you used to live here."

She blinks. "Yeah."

"That's why you know Wells."

"Yeah. We grew up together. His parents were friends with my parents. Why?"

If he'd been thinking, he wouldn't have brought it up, because there's no reason for him to be weird about any of this. It's all very normal. But she's looking at him, steady and curious, and he's already had too much of this conversation.

"I thought he was your boyfriend," he says.

"Wells?"

"Yeah."

"Based on what?"

"He's hot and you were excited to see him."

"It's called friendship, Bellamy. I know you have friends." She pauses. "Actually, I guess I just know you have _friend_. Do you know anyone other than Miller?"

"I try not to."

"Because you don't have time, right. Well, Wells is pan, but he's not really into hookups, so I don't think you've got a shot with him. Sorry."

"Yeah, that's not--" He wets his lips. "I just was surprised. That he was your type."

"I guess your only other data point was Lexa."

He can't help making a face, and she laughs. Bellamy hasn't ever liked Clarke's ex-girlfriend, and that was even before they started dating. In retrospect, it makes a lot of sense that he didn't like her after.

"They aren't very similar, yeah." Despite how stupid it feels, he asks, "What is your type?"

"I don't have a type," she says. "I like the people I like. When I was twelve, I liked Wells. When I was sixteen, I liked Lexa."

"And you're seventeen now," he says.

"Yup. What about you, what's your type? I'm pretty sure it's not actually _anything that moves_."

"I don't date."

"But if you did."

Camp is ending in three days. They've been perfecting the routine together for months. School won't start up again for another two months, and they'll only have practice a couple times a week. For a couple hours. He's going to see so little of her, after this. And the chasm of time he doesn't spend with Clarke feels endless, somehow. It's not going to be long, but it could be nothing.

"Definitely not Wells. No offense to Wells."

"I think you guys would be cute."

"Yeah, but--" He huffs. "What do you like at seventeen?"

Her mouth twitches up into a smile, and his heart stutters. She looks so _sure_. And she should be, of course. He's sure too.

"You," she says. "Same as fifteen and sixteen."

He laughs, slides his hand into his hair and kisses her. She tastes like lip gloss and gatorade, and she's kissing him too, warm and eager and happy. He's never felt like this before, kissing someone. Like he never wants to stop.

"I thought you were busy," she murmurs, between kisses.

"I'll make time," he says. "I could always drop cheerleading, if it gets too time-consuming."

"You better not. "She's trying to glare at him, but she's smiling too much. He's pretty sure he is too. It's fine. "I don't want Miller lifting me. He does better with Harper."

"Wait, does this mean I can start looking up your skirt?" he asks.

"You weren't already?"

"Nope, I'm a gentleman."

She leans in to kiss him again, even if her smile is getting in the way. "Well, you can get up my skirt any time you want."

He nips her bottom lip and pulls her to her feet. "Yeah? So what are we waiting for?"

*

As it turns out, cheerleading is the best thing that ever happens to his sex life, and he's not sure he'll ever come up with a plan that works out better than this one. But that's fine. 

Everything's suddenly going his way.


End file.
